


holy only by blood

by gabriphales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24626716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: crowley wants to raise the antichrist alongside aziraphale. aziraphale has some troubling concerns about the prospect
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	holy only by blood

**Author's Note:**

> at this point i should make ocd aziraphale a series i cant stop writing it

his hands tremble the first time crowley lets him see the child. he isn't even touching it, but the threat is there, the knowledge of all the things he could do wrong. blue, round eyes meet his own, and crowley jokes about how they match aziraphale's perfectly in color. they're curious, inspecting as crowley lifts him from the wicker basket. he doesn't bother with carrying the blankets alongside the child, and aziraphale has to look away until crowley covers him up. laughing all the while about angels, and their prudish modesty.

"should i touch him?" aziraphale asks, prickling with nerves.

"whatever you want, angel. 's very soft." crowley replies.

aziraphale strokes over the infant's head, mulling through the faint gust of hair already growing. the skin is tender, pink, and easy to bruise, aziraphale has to imagine. though he'd rather avoid the subject entirely, his brain can't seem to stay on course. always steering back to countless, vivid scenarios in which _something_ happens, something that's all his fault, and he can't reverse the ramifications. it drives him nearly mental, the inner edges of his skull already singing with the familiar burn of stress. he grinds his teeth together, pulls his hand carefully back. and he can't help the feeling that he's just saved the child from a gruesome fate. his own touch too dangerous to allow.

"i'm frightened." he admits. "what if i hurt it? him, i mean."

crowley looks at him like he's walked into the room holding god's fist in one hand, and satan's in another. his grin upturns, stretching wider, and something about it is too teasing for aziraphale's tastes. he decides not to mention it.

"c'mon, angel, really? aren't you, like, made to be good with kids? baby animals, baby humans, they're all the same, really." crowley says, sounding all too proud of the conjecture. as if his logic were completely sound, nothing to see amiss. aziraphale wishes it were so.

"he's so frail," he whispers, looking the baby up and down once more. "what do i do with something so delicate?"

crowley cocks an impish brow. "i don't know, how have you handled yourself for the past six thousand years?"

aziraphale scowls, "oh, really, it's hardly the same! i can at least hold my own head up."

"true, but you're still full of soft spots. none on your skull, fortunately."

"don't remind me of _that_." aziraphale shudders, too close to his breaking point. "i keep worrying i might, i don't know, accidentally squish through there. and hurt him."

he adds the last bit for good flavor, praying crowley will see how much this is affecting him. his prayers, as expected, fall on unwanting ears, and god seemingly turns her cheek to the whole ordeal. 

"that's a bit graphic for an angel." crowley snickers, pleased with himself.

that's all it takes for aziraphale to break. he heaves over, head pressed to his own knees, with his hands clawing at the very source of the problem. scraping through his curls, against his scalp, as if trying to dig through and tear the bad thoughts out. strangle them by the root, so they can never persist again. sobs wrench from his body, humiliating to no end. there's fat tears dribbling down his cheeks, streaming in perfect disorder, and with his open-mouthed crying, he's sure to be dripping slight spittle as well. disgusting. _revolting._ he's a putrid creature, through and through. inside and out.

"angel," crowley leaps upon him, laying the baby aside. "angel, what's wrong? whatever i said, i'm sorry, just - please, tell me what's wrong."

his hand strokes up and down the bridge of aziraphale's spine. fingers taking care to not scratch at the sweater jacket he loves so dearly. it only makes aziraphale cry harder. he doesn't deserve crowley's compassion. he doesn't deserve his kindness, his care. but it feels so good to press into him like this, to cling, and weep against a bony chest. god forgive him, he knows he doesn't deserve it, but please, just let him have it for now. he can handle the shame, but let him have crowley.

"darling," crowley mutters. "come along now, look at me. you've got to tell me what's going on with you. that's the only way i can help."

aziraphale blanches. "you'll hate me."

"i highly doubt that."

aziraphale steadies his breathing then, shallow and uncertain. he can't bear to look crowley in the eye as he says it, as he _confesses,_ more or less. but he manages to explain it well enough. the thoughts, the details, the _fear._ crowley's gaze softens, and he thumbs away a budding tear. rubbing at the soft, puffy skin beneath aziraphale's eye. 

"my poor love," he smiles, gently this time. "you've done nothing wrong. it just means you're scared, angel. doesn't mean you want to do any of that."

"it hurts," aziraphale whimpers. "it hurts to think those things."

"i know, my dear." crowley continues preening his woes, soothing out the aches and pains aziraphale's kept hidden from him for hell knows how long. "they'll get better. you get more used to them over time."

aziraphale pauses, hesitating before he says his next piece.

"will they ever go away?" he asks, feeling ruefully immature. like a child tucked in their parents lap, seeking out surplus comfort.

crowley gives him a look that can only be described as extraordinary pity. it makes aziraphale want to squirm in his seat, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"i don't know, love." the admission pours forwards. "but i do know that i'll be here. i'll help you with anything you need. and this scamp - "

he reaches for the child once more, holding him out for aziraphale to see. unwounded, unharmed. just as safe as can be.

" - will love it with us. you're gonna do great with him, i promise you that."

and aziraphale, though he's still sore and soured from the aftermath of emotionally collapsing, dares to believe him. crowley's rarely wrong about him, it seems. he has reason to trust his judgement.


End file.
